


Those Things Are Dangerous

by ao3afterdark



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest, i'm not even going to pretend that this was dubya con cause lbr here let's be real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:49:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7712032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ao3afterdark/pseuds/ao3afterdark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver finds out his older sister is anonymously working a gloryhole at the Rose and decides to pay it a visit or two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Things Are Dangerous

Carver's hands were shaking when he stepped into the small room. He wiped them on his jerkin nervously, shoving down the urge to look over his shoulder at the cold certainty creeping up his spine that someone must have known, that someone would give him away, but. No. There was nothing. No outcry, no banging on the door between him and the main room of the Blooming Rose, just him and the steady drumbeat of his panted breaths echoing around the small space, and-

ah.

There it was, a neat, smooth hole at just the right height for-

Carver almost turned around and left right then, until he heard the warm, familiar sound of his sister breathing on the other side of the wall between them, steady, in and out, the way she’d taught him to prepare for battle. He never thought he’d hear it like this, in preparation to-

He gasped for breath, reached out to steady himself on the wall. Sudden doubts, not quite second thoughts, warred with excitement. This was a terrible idea, he should leave right now, before-

“Is anyone there?” Her voice wavered, just a bit. He could hear the uncertainty in it, the hint of something that deepened her voice to a husky, roughened thing, and he didn't have time to wonder at it before he was overtaken in a rushing pool of warmth swirling up from his belly.

That settled him.

He struggled with his belt, biting down on his lip as his knuckles brushed against himself through his pants. Couldn’t seem to steady his hands enough to work the buckle. He was almost painfully hard, and he had to bite back a curse when he finally closed his hand around himself. The urge to rut into his own hand was nearly overwhelming, but that wasn’t what he had come here to do, wasn’t what he had spent near two weeks psyching himself up for.

He lined himself up to the hole. On the other side, darkness eclipsed the opening, and he had enough time to wonder which hole it was before he pushed through and into her mouth. _Fuck,_ he mouthed, biting the flesh of his wrist to keep from crying out, though he was unable to help the thready whine building up in his throat. His pulse pounded in his ears. His knees almost buckled as she started to move, pushing him deeper into the wet heat of her mouth, and he nearly came undone right then and there. He felt himself twitch with her, leaking out a thin stream of cum, and he let out a broken noise that might have tried for a word when she pulled back far enough to lick it away.

Carver clenched his eyes shut, unable to help his moan when she ran her tongue along the underside of the head, pulling it back into her mouth and swallowed it down. The guilt he thought he'd feel was nowhere to be found. Instead there was an electric thrill that jolted up his spine and had him stuttering his hips into her mouth, pushing into her throat. He stared open mouthed at where his cock disappeared through the wall and into his sister's mouth, and whimpered.

She swallowed that down, too. He expected her to gag, but there came only a humming from the other side of the wall that vibrated around his cock and he realized with a start that she was laughing, her lips curving around his shaft in a smile that nearly made him come right then and there. She was enjoying this, too, maybe more than he was. The thought near strangled him, the moan that had been building up in his throat emerging as a low, husky sound that sounded nothing like him and everything like the men he'd been able to hear through the walls at the Blooming Rose, rough and instinctive and full of want.

 He wasn't going to last long, he knew that, and he tried to commit the feel of her to memory as she bobbed on his cock. Warmth settled around his base as she gripped him up with her hand, and he felt another spread of warmth of pride that he was too big for her to take without it. He wanted her to try anyway. Wanted to stretch make her mouth and make it sore. He shoved with his hips, pushing as hard as he could and surprising her with the force of it as he grunted out something that might have been a curse and might have been her name as he started to come, his spine bowing as his hips jerked again and again in shallow arcs that brought him pushing into her as far as he could.

He pulled out at the end, just enough that pearly streams of cum shot through the gap between the hole and her mouth and spattered over what little he could see of her tawny skin. They moaned in unison, and he nearly tore the door open just to see her face. Something, some self preservation instinct stayed his hand and he stayed there, bent over the hole, his softening cock in hand as he listened to her get to her feet and shuffle about for a moment before she left.

He stayed there for a good ten minutes after she left before he made his way back to his table. He was as unsteady on his feet as if it'd been his first blowjob, and it might as well have been, the way he gasped for air as he sat, scrubbing a hand down his face to clear away sweat and involuntary tears. He spent a good few hours there, hunched over his table, mouth dry with what he had done and what he still wanted to do. He wanted more than her mouth. He wanted to fuck her, wanted to wash away the very memory of every other man she'd had until she couldn't be with anyone else without thinking first of his cock.

He should go home, or the fucking chantry, put this behind him where it belonged, but all he could seem to do was think on her heat and wonder at how much better her cunt would feel. He looked across at where she'd been sitting since he's come in this morning

He couldn't wait.

He fumbled in his pocket for a coin and threw it as madame Lucine as he made his way to the privies, ignoring her knowing look. The door on the other side was closed already, and his breath hitched when he saw her hands and knees beneath the low walls of the stall. She was-

He clenched his eyes shut tight as the bottom of his stomach fell away. Not out of fear or shame this time but expectation. It was the work of a moment to pull himself free of his pants and pushed through the hole and into her. On the other side of the door, his sister moaned, a rough, raggedy sound that seemed torn out of her throat, and bucked back into him. The wall shuddered, and then again when Carver pushed as close as he could.

Even the thin barrier of the door was too much and not enough, and he growled deep in his throat. He’d have thought that being unable to touch her would have been infuriating, but it provided its own excitement. The knowledge that his sister had no idea who it was that was driving into her, making her clench around him so hard he saw stars, was heady, was empowering. He braced his hands on the wall, imagining them to be closing around the swell of her slim hips, and started to pound into her, making the thin wall rattle.

On the other side of the door his sister's panted attempts for air broke on a whimper and she pushed back to meet his next hard thrust with a high, reedy sound that went straight to his cock. She was tight and hot and wet around him, his cock making profane, awful, beautiful wet sounds that pulled a moan from behind the tight press of his lips. He almost said her name, almost begged her to make him come, to take him, all of him. Senseless, needy things that fought still for space on the edge of his tongue. His breath caught when she said it for him. His proud, stern, _quiet_ sister was asking, _begging_ him to come.

He had to grit his teeth around his answer. His blood roared in his ears at her whimpering protest as his desperate thrusts slowed to a rhythmic roll of his hips, dragging his breath out of him until his chest hurt. He panted for breath, the harsh sound mingling with that of his sister’s, with the needy sounds she’d have never allowed herself if she had done this face to face with anyone, let alone him, and he allowed himself to revel in the stab of pleasure this brought, the knowledge of his sister, so proud of her iron resolve, her control over her every action and reaction, reduced to this, a whimpering, needy creature of desire who begged to be fucked. By him. It was exhilarating, it was everything. He wanted this moment to go on forever. He wanted to do this every day. Wanted to look her in the face the next time she barked an order at him and know what she sounded like when he bottomed out in her cunt.

Pulling back, he pushed slowly inside her, an inch at a time. His sister writhed on the other side of the wall. She pushed back with an inarticulate noise that made his teeth ache with the effort of holding back a shout and still he somehow managed to keep a strong hold on himself, managed to pull back for every inch she rose to meet him. He was overcome with the sudden urge to slap her ass, and settled for plunging the rest of the way inside her in one long thrust that made her gulp down a cry. He did it once, twice more, luxuriating in the velvet feel of her tight around his cock. The wall restricted him to short rolls of his hips, but that in and of itself had become something desireable. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, couldn’t stop moving. He heard a shift on the other side of the wall, and then there came wet sounds that dizzied him. She was touching herself. She was bringing herself pleasure at the thought of him, of his cock, of his coming inside her, and that eroded the last of his control.

Bracing a hand on the wall, he set a bruising pace, pounding into and against her until she wailed. He wanted to split her with his cock, wanted to keep fucking her all night long. Words tripped on his tongue. He’d never been one to talk during sex, but he wanted to, now. Wanted to ask her if she would think about this later when she lay with her lover, if she would bring herself to climax at the thought of his cock, and he shuddered, bent until his head hit the wall.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispered, or thought he did. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, you feel so good.” And she did, but that wasn’t all of it, wasn’t the thing that made heat coil at the base of his spine. His end was close, he could feel it, and in that moment there was nothing he desired so much as to hear her cry out for him as she came on his cock.

She was quivering around him in time to the rocking of his hips each time he buried himself inside her, eking out small cries that made his hands clench convulsively tight on the wall in white knuckled desperation. He wanted to come. Needed to come. But her wanted her to come too, wanted to pull at his cock tonight at the memory of it, of her coming undone because of a total stranger that wasn't. The power he had over her in this moment was intoxicating.

He couldn't help the choked noise he made when he felt her start to strain against him as a series of rhythmic shudders rolled down her spine, inhaling him ever deeper in her again and again, and he near lost track of his breathing when he realized that she was coming, that the rush of warmth on his cock was her skirting on him, and that was all it took so send him over the edge.

His spine snapped taut as he started to come with a hoarse shout he realized only belatedly was her name when everything went very still. For a moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing, and then she pulled free. He had a scant few seconds in which to miss it before the door to his stall slammed open and there was his sister, the champion.

The thin robe she gripped close in a white knuckled fist did nothing to hide her shape. If anything, they only accentuated it. They drew his eyes now in a way they never had before. He wondered what the puckered scar wrapped around her hip felt like, wondered if she would make that artless keening sound if he-

_”Carver.”_

With effort, he dragged his eyes up to her face. Her mouth was twisted in an expression he couldn’t read. “Wh- why would you-” Her throat worked. He watched it, fascinated, as she struggled to clamp down on her emotions. “Not here,” she said finally. “But this will not happen again. Because it never happened. Understand?”

Carver titled his brows as he looked up at her eyes, wondering as he did what they had looked like a few minutes before when they had been cloudy with lust, and smiled. “What never happened?” He said easily, and smiled as she nodded stiffly and turned away, but all he could see was the sway of slim hips, knowing what lay beneath as intimately as he knew himself, and knowing, too, that he wanted to do it again.


End file.
